


would you light my candle

by darkcosmo



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, One Shot, Pining, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), and we were robbed of a paired ending is all im saying, i just think witch gfs are neat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25405795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkcosmo/pseuds/darkcosmo
Summary: Lysithea is working under a self-imposed time crunch, but when Annette waltzes in with baked goods and her pretty smile, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Lysithea von Ordelia
Comments: 9
Kudos: 58





	would you light my candle

**Author's Note:**

> Set between the fall of Derdriu and the march to Arianrhod, CF route

**—**

What had started as an elegant, artisanal candle imported from the expensive part of the shopping district in Enbarr, had turned into no more than a sad, shapeless lump as the night dragged on. The wick, still lit, sat surrounded in a pool of warm wax, and it had maybe a couple of hours of light left to give before darkness engulfed her.

Which was fine by Lysithea. She should really, _really_ get some sleep. She had been glued to her desk chair for hours, poring over complicated and arcane texts recovered from the Abyss that would hopefully give her some semblance of understanding on _those who slither in the dark_.

Hubert had checked in at around 11, delivering more yellowed-papers and cracked leather books, and his face probably rivaled her own on exhaustion. One workaholic to another, when he suggested she call it a night, she’d replied, “ _You first_.”

“Ms. Ordelia, the ever-frustrating puzzle will still be there when you wake, I assure you,” Hubert’s lips pulled into a thin smile. “We will not be of much use to Her Majesty if we cannot keep our eyes open come the morrow. Get some sleep.”

“I don’t need sleep,” she’d grumbled as her quill flew across a semantic map of her own making that was starting to border on incomprehensible, “I need answers.”

He pointed a bony, gloved finger at the dwindling source of light in her room, “When this candle goes out, _promise_ you will retire for the night. Do not light another.”

Lysithea made a non-committal noise of acquiescence, just so he would leave, which thankfully he does, and so she gets back to work.

That had been hours ago.

Unintentionally, the material he delivered only added to her workload, and she opts to comb through the new leads right away, as she was loathe to interrupt her headspace as it was now. 

Pinpointing the location of the stronghold of Thales and his servants was proving to be short of a nightmare. Through arduous work, she and the Minister of the Imperial Household had narrowed it down to Leicester, but only the goddess knew _where_ , exactly, that could be. Hubert was concerned that the only way to properly locate them would be through an act of aggression on their part that they could then track down, which was a whole other type of headache.

When it started to rain, a light, comforting drizzle, she heard Leonie retire for the night next door. A while later, when it started to _really_ _pour_ , she heard Mercedes do the same. Shortly after that, however, an insistent pounding on her door startles her out of her workflow rhythm.

“Yes?” she calls, but the rain drowns out her voice, which, unlike the rest of her, had not changed all that much from the high-pitch of her youth.

The person on the other side knocks harder, and Lysithea scrapes her chair back with a growl. As she stomps towards the door, she wonders if she should have a Miasma spell at the ready, because, like, what if it was a _ghost_? A very polite one, but still–

She mentally chides herself for indulging her childhood fears, and yanks open the door without preamble, but her fingers still twitch with the urge to cast.

“Lysithea! Hi!”

It’s Annette.

Lysithea blinks. “Oh.”

She’s dripping wet, carrying a basket of something that smells _heavenly_ , and she’s grinning like she’s not at a severe risk for hypothermia.

“Gosh, don’t look so excited to see me,” she swipes her bangs out of her face, they’re much shorter now, and Lysithea realizes her brows had been furrowed. She doesn’t mean to appear unfriendly, but sometimes her face just defaults to a scowl.

“S-Sorry, I– Annette, it’s half past twelve. What are you doing up?”

“Ah! Well! Just some late-night baking with Mercie!” She holds up the basket, as if this was obvious. “Manuela calls it _stress-baking_ , but, hey, Edelgard approved, says it’s good to increase morale, so!” the Faerghian’s smile is dazzling as she adds, “We saw your light on, you know, on the way back, and I thought, who likes cake? Lysithea likes cake!”

Lysithea feels her mouth water at the thought of gorging herself on one of Mercedes’ legendary cakes, and her manners snap into action, “Gods, I’m an asshole. Come in, come in.”

She steps aside and the shorter girl happily skips inside. The former Blue Lions seem to insist on dressing in ridiculous winter gear, reminiscent of their freezing country, and Annette is no exception. She shrugs off her ochre-colored coat and her fuzzy gloves follow.

They had come a long way from their awkward school day interactions, when Lysithea had been a prickly ball of defensiveness and almost rebuffed Annette’s attempts to study together. Slowly, she’d realized the girl from Fhirdiad had wanted to _befriend_ her, not berate her.

She was one of the few that understood Lysithea’s magical prowess was not due to “prodigal” or entirely natural talent, but a result of hard work and dedication, something the former Blue Lion could relate to as well.

The above was almost lost to her due to miscommunication. Annette’s self-described “ _verbal diarrhea”_ at the beginning of their tentative friendship all those years ago was something they laughed about now, and the two had grown very close in the past five years of war.

The Alliance noble summons a small fireball in hopes that it will warm the older girl up, and in return, Annette shoots her a smile that makes her heart skitter. Next, she wrings out her hair, and a surprising amount of rainwater is squeezed out.

“Sorry about the puddle,” the redhead grimaces, “Mercie _did_ tell me to get dry in her room before coming here, but what if you went to bed, like, _right_ as I did that? _Time is of the essence_!” She attempts to sound like Hanneman in that last part, and Lysithea chuckles.

“Don’t worry. If anything, I apologize for the mess,” she balls her hand into a fist to extinguish the Fire spell. Her room is starting to resemble that of her former house leader.

It makes her a little sad to think about Claude, but her room _is_ starting to look a lot like his did back in their Academy days, all strewn books and scattered papers. Unlike his, though, no random elements to concoct poisons would be found. Probably.

“No! Don’t apologize. I’m the one intruding,” she twirls a copper lock of hair in one finger, “I know you and Hubert have been tasked with the Shadow Library business. A little messiness as a result of your research is completely understandable!” 

“Hm. I thought our job was confidential?”

Color rises to Annette’s cheeks, and she mumbles as way of explanation, “ _Linhardt_.”

Lysithea sighs. Of course, the third member of the taskforce would be the loose-lipped one. Linhardt was an admirable scholar, and she had high hopes for him regarding some of his other projects, but his work ethic and regard for sensitive information left much to be desired.

She supposed it did not matter in the grand scheme of things. They were all on the same side, all in service of the Empire, all loyal to the Strike Force. It made no difference if one more talented mage was privy to yet another one of their goals.

“ _Hah_ … well, um, how about some scones so you forget about me babbling state secrets?” Annette darts to the basket she left on the bed, the only space that isn’t littered with paper or books, and Lysithea’s eyes light up.

“Cake _and_ scones? You spoil me.”

“And cookies!”

As Annette peels back the checkered cloth covering the basket, Lysithea is delighted to find that the treats inside are still warm from the oven, and the smell that wafts from it makes her stomach howl with joy. She had not realized, but it had been several hours since she last had something to eat.

The ever-dwindling candle taunts her in its corner, but she figures they have enough time to enjoy the contents of the basket before her promise to Hubert is due. The rain outside fades into a dull patter against the windows, and the sound is almost relaxing.

She immediately joins her on the bed and greedily paws at the tasty desserts, without a care for any crumbs that could fall on her duvet. Any ant or other vermin problem it could cause would be a future-Lysithea problem, as far as she was concerned.

When she sees a small jar with clotted cream, she really thinks she could cry. Using a finger, Lysithea spreads it on a scone and promptly devours it in two bites. “Mmm!”

“You’ve got… you’ve got a little something– _here_ –” Annette is trying and failing not to laugh as she gently cups her chin and wipes at her bottom lip with her thumb to get at the cream collected there. She entirely misses the way the Blue Lion stares at her lips for a little too long.

In front of anyone else, she would have been embarrassed about the unsophisticated display, but she was all-too comfortable with Annette doing it. It reminded her a little of the time Felix had caught her shoveling cake into her mouth like a frenzied animal, now _that_ had been mortifying.

She ducks her head and explores the contents of the basket again, this time her fingers curling around another prize: _a cookie_. She holds it up like it’s a holy grail. It had toasty edges and smelled buttery, just like she liked them. Bless Mercedes, she was not the type to put horrid raisins over other superior, sweeter alternatives.

“Are you going to eat it, or make heart eyes at it all night?” Annette was not usually one to tease with that singsong tone of hers, but Lysithea’s too excited to really be affronted by it.

The chocolate-chip on it is still gooey, inviting, and it looks so, so _good_. Lysithea takes a hearty bite and her eyes almost roll to the back of her head. In a very Hilda-like impulse, she blurts out, “I could kiss you!”

Annette freezes, and from her peripherical she can see the older girl blinking hard at her, but she pays her little mind, even as she utters a low, “Um…”

Lysithea shoots her a small grin, and before she can shove the rest of her treat into her mouth, warm lips press against her own. She can feel the baked good slip out of her grasp and to the floor. However, she cannot bring herself to remotely care at the moment.

Her lips had been parted to welcome the cookie, so the contact is probably a little steamier than Annette intended, and she can taste a hint of the clotted cream on her tongue. The contact is soft, brief, and Lysithea feels her eyes slide shut. 

Despite how nice it feels, when her brain demands oxygen, the Ordelia girl breaks the kiss with a gasp, her head jerking back. “Wha– why did you do that?”

Blue eyes widen in alarm, “B-but, you said…?”

“It’s– it’s an expression,” Lysithea sputters, heat slowly crawling up her neck. “Hilda says it all the time.”

She’d become re-acquaintanced with the Goneril girl’s choice phrases ever since Hilda joined them shortly after Derdriu fell. Even before that, when they used to be classmates along the other Golden Deer, she’d heard her throw the words around when relaying her chores unto others. _Oh, I could kiss ya, Raph_ , or _You’re a doll, Marianne, I could just kiss you_!

Maybe she had completely misunderstood, and Lysithea was just dense. Maybe Hilda _did_ kiss the people on the receiving end of her gratitude.

“Sorry, sorry! In Faerghus, we take stuff like that literally.” Annette buries her face in her hands, “Or maybe I just can’t read a room. Or I’m deluded. Or Sylvain gave me brain rot. Or–”

“Stop talking, let me think,” for once, she doesn’t want Annette’s nervous chatter to fill the space, because she’s much more concerned about what could she only describe as an incoming heart attack, from the way it’s thrashing wildly in her chest, it’s like it’s trying to claw out.

But she knows Annette talks _double_ her usual amount when she’s uncomfortable, as she is now, “P-Please don’t be mad! My friends give terrible advice. Sylvain said to just take my shot, a-and Mercie said the best way to someone’s heart is through their stomach. Ashe uselessly asked if you liked bows, and Felix said I was pathetic for hoping you’d reciprocate–”

“You’re not pathetic–”

“– and Ingrid just rolled her eyes and said I should pick someone else to have a crush on, ’cause she thinks you’re kinda mean.”

Annette still won’t look at her, but the misery is rolling off of her in waves at Lysithea’s apparent rejection. Well, how could she not? Her reaction did not indicate otherwise, and _goddess_ was she quick on her feet for some things, but embarrassingly slow for other matters.

She had never dared to give much thought to such _matters_ , despite how much she longed to. Any small crush she had ever harbored, Lysithea had made sure to quickly stomp down. The invisible clock in her head made her painfully aware that her short lifespan would be better spent in pursuit of other, greater things.

But who even got to say what _great things_ entailed, anyway? To love, and be loved in return, wasn’t that worth something, too?

She’d had… intimate encounters, before, but none that meant anything. Never with someone she actually liked, lest her limited time on this earth complicate things. If she could spare herself, and them, the heartbreak, she would.

Lately, however, the annoying flicker of hope had been licking at her heart, tempting her cynical, pragmatic way of life. Linhardt and Hanneman had planted a dangerous, unprecedented possibility: the fact that she could live past twenty.

She decided to hold on to that.

Lysithea tries to ignore the distinctive rumble of a hunger in her belly that doesn’t have anything to do with sustenance. She calmly takes the basket from Annette’s lap and gets it out of the way before replacing it with her own body.

She watches the older girl’s mouth open yet again, but she stops her with a stern look, “I said _stop talking_.”

Surprisingly, she listens, and clamps it shut. Her eyes still show puzzlement, and the Ordelia girl tries to soothe the still-rattled Lion by tracing the side of her face with a finger, using a light touch. Annette leans into it.

“Of course I’m not mad. I was just surprised.” She lets her hand rest on the underside of her jaw, and smirks, “I see you took a mix of Sylvain’s and Mercedes’ advice.”

“Well, I really, _really_ didn’t want to take Ingrid’s. I also wasn’t planning to act on… these feelings… _today_ , but, uh, you offered–” Annette hesitates. “Well, I _thought_ you did. That’s my bad,” she amends.

A light blush spreads across the bridge of her nose that almost hides her freckles, and she looks so pretty like this, Lysithea feels that new type of hunger in her belly rear its head.

Annette apparently can’t stand silences of any kind, even contemplative or appreciative ones, because she watches her take another breath to start rambling about something else–

–and Lysithea doesn’t allow it. She captures her lips in a searing kiss, and whatever distressed little noise Annette tried to do is trapped between them. Her mouth is soft and pliant under Lysithea’s, and tastes just as good as that first encounter.

She pushes her down to lie on the bed, and never stops straddling her. Lysithea really enjoys the fact that she grew up to be taller than Annette, and she also greatly likes that the Empire’s smallest recruit is now pinned under her and arching against her.

The rain outside still rages and, if anything, is worse than before. The only reason she can hear anything at all is due to proximity alone, and she really wishes Mother Nature would _shut up_ and let her drink in all of the sounds.

When Annette starts to pant in short, ragged breaths, Lysithea sits up and studies her Fhirdiad-inspired dress and feels a flash of… _annoyance_ , at how conservative it is.

It has a fucking _turtleneck_.

A red flush crawls up Annette’s face at her scrutiny, “What?”

“I’m wondering if your shoulders have freckles on them,” she lets her hand trace the edge of the high collar. Now that she gave it some thought, her school uniform style had been really modest as well.

“Y-Yeah, they do.”

“Show me?”

Instead of getting up and going through the whole ordeal of removing the complicated dress, Annette snaps her fingers and the whole garment is _gone_ , leaving her in her underclothes and the white leggings she wore under it.

As suspected, her shoulders and collarbone are dusted with the same adorable freckles, and the sappy part of her brain can’t help but compare it to the starry night sky.

Lysithea blinks in approval, “Who taught you _that_ spell?”

“The school of sorcery in Fhirdiad. _No_ , I will not elaborate,” Annette’s eyes rake over the form above her, “I’m… kinda self-conscious, now. Can I…?”

“By all means,” Lysithea purses her lips. “But I must warn you… there’s. Ah. I have...” she tries again when the words will not come, “There’s some… significant scarring.”

She watches Annette’s index finger and thumb hover close together, ready for another snap, but she waits. “We all have scars.”

She’d wanted to appear nonchalant, but all Lysithea manages is a wince, “Some more than others. Um. If they make you uncomfortable at all, we can just–”

The Faerghian’s gaze softens, and when her fingers snap together with a clear sound, Lysithea tries not to flinch as she’s reduced to her underclothes.

From the breezy feel of it, she figures it’s a targeted modification of the Warp spell, applied to certain items of clothing, but she can ask about that later. Right now, Annette’s eyes are wide as she takes in the thick, jagged scars that mar the skin of her chest.

Her candle is slowly dying, judging from the feeble shadows that are cast across the room, but the girl under her can discern the extensive damage to her skin with absolutely no problem.

The area around her heart is where most of the raised tissue is, as blood reconstruction surgery and the forced implantation of crests seemed to take best there. She knew Edelgard’s chest to be equally as gruesome, as the demented butchers that did this to them didn’t even care to perfect their technique, even when building their ultimate weapon.

She could count in one hand how many people knew about… _this_ , and the only Blue Lion privy to it was Mercedes, whose brother had also been under the knife of those who slither in the dark, but for a different kind of fate. For that, and also due to the fact that she served as Edelgard’s doctor when Manuela was otherwise indisposed.

“Those are surgical,” Annette’s voice is small. “Lys…”

“Later,” Lysithea urges. Despite being aware that her body could serve as a mood killer of sorts, she hopes the older girl’s attraction to her could not be so easily swayed, but if it was, she completely understood–

Something in her face spurs Annette into action.

She’s blasted with a weakened version of Wind at the small of her back that causes her to be knocked forwards into Annette’s waiting arms, and against her demanding mouth.

“Sorry for the forcefulness,” Annette murmurs between renewed kisses, “But you looked like you were about to bolt, and– I mean, I think that’s _not_ what you really wanted, plus it’s raining, and this is _your_ room, but… oh, _gosh_! Here I go _again_ , assuming I know what you want–”

“Annette–”

“– if you want to stop, that’s totally–”

“ _I don’t_.”

Lysithea pushes past the seal of her lips and brings their bodies flush together once more. She feels careful fingertips trace the scarred skin by her ribs, gingerly and grounding, and she sighs into Annette’s mouth.

She’s a little irritated that she didn’t think to tie her hair back, as the curtain of white is starting to become a little annoying to keep batting out of the way, and the veil that usually kept it out of her face was removed with Annette’s handy spell.

Lysithea decides to finally pay attention to her earlier fixation, and traces a downwards path along Annette’s neck before peppering the freckled skin there with kisses. She nudges the former Lion with her nose until she tilts her head back to give her better access.

With her tender throat bared to her, she mouths at the offering, slowly, and she can’t help but want to add new marks of her own to the expanse of skin. Annette’s hand reaches up and presses her close, tangling in her hair.

Unsurprisingly, when her mouth isn’t otherwise occupied, the Fhirdiad mage is very _vocal_ , emitting soft gasps and breathy sounds that are all too encouraging. They flood Lysithea’s senses, and for once, the rain outside takes its rightful place as mere background noise.

Annette’s hair is still somewhat wet from the rain, and a few loose strands tickle her as she continues to nuzzle the warm, perfect nook there. She hums, low in her throat, and brings her knee up to park it in the gap between the redhead’s legs, without touching her just yet.

She gets an unhappy harrumph in response to her inaction.

“You know, for always being in such a hurry, you’re one big tease,” Annette’s protest is punctuated by her entire body jerking when Lysithea _finally_ brushes her knee along the damp material of her leggings, but removes the desired touch just as quickly. The groan she's rewarded with makes her smile, all teeth.

“That’s true, but I’m also a perfectionist,” the Ordelia heir drags her teeth along the freckly skin she’d grown so fond of in a matter of minutes, “Okay, okay, I’ve had my fun…”

Annette’s hips rise up, whether involuntary or not, and Lysithea brings one hand over to press her down against the mattress, while using the other to balance herself up top near her head. She gently rubs circles on the jutting bone there, testing the older girl’s patience even more.

Lysithea nips at the juncture between neck and shoulder, and when Annette whimpers, the heat pooling between her legs becomes impossible to ignore.

“ _Lys_ ,” Annette hisses.

“Yes?”

Lysithea props her head up on her elbow, and raises her gaze. She stops all ministrations, even going as far as bringing up the hand that had been pinning Annette down to withraw all contact. Maybe Ingrid did have a point about her being mean. 

Going by the heated glare she’s being leveled with, Lysithea is curious whether the little Lion would choose to threaten her or beg for it.

It’s the latter.

Those sweet eyes flecked with gray become pleading enough, but what makes her crack is one simple word, repeated over and over, “ _Please_ , _please_ , _please_.”

Lysithea couldn’t refuse her. She kisses her softly on the mouth and makes a show of gliding her hand down the smooth plane of her stomach, “Spread your legs for me?”

The redhead is all too quick to oblige, and Lysithea smirks.

“ _A-Ah_.”

The candle is finally snuffed out, and they’re plunged into darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> I like the concept of witch gfs what can I say. and there’s sooo little content for them, i just felt like catering to the three other stans out there
> 
> Yes, writing rarepairs is my passion as well as my personal hell, what about it


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